


You Ever Thought About Modelling?

by ronans



Series: Prompts [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student Mickey, M/M, One Shot, Students, Textiles Student Ian, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:11:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronans/pseuds/ronans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Ian is a textiles student and he’s looking for a model for his portfolio and he sees Mickey and takes it upon himself to get Mickey to be his model because he has exactly the right look, and he has to try convince him to do the end of year fashion show – <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/whereareyoucas/pseuds/whereareyoucas">whereareyoucas</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	You Ever Thought About Modelling?

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda downplayed the end of year fashion show bit of the prompt by accident I'm sorry

He knows he sticks his tongue out when he works, and he knows it’s definitely a problem the second Lip takes it upon himself to try to yank said tongue out of his head. As a joke, of course. Prick.

‘Hey, what the fuck, Lip?!’ Ian yells, jerking away from where his brother had clamped his thumb and forefinger around his tongue.

Lip laughs and makes his way over to the fridge, throwing the door open and retrieving a jug of juice, not even bothering with a glass before taking a gulp. ‘So how’s your project comin’ along?’

Ian scowls at his brother before sighing and looking back down at the page of possible designs he had in front of him. ‘I don’t know.’

Lip frowns and leans over the counter to peek at Ian’s scattered drawings. ‘What do you mean you _don’t know_?’

Ian scratches at his chin with the end of his pencil and lets out an even deeper sigh. ‘I mean I can’t figure out how my designs will look on a model because I don’t fucking have one.’

His brother takes another drink and purses his lips. ‘How about Karen? I could probably-‘

‘Nah, has to be male.’ Lightly, Ian resumes his sketch, tracing over the lines he’d already made but it just didn’t look right.

‘Carl?’

Ian snorts and shakes his head. ‘No way.’

‘ _Me_?’ Lip suggests, wiggling his eyebrows and pulling a macho pose as soon as Ian looks up with a deadpan expression.

‘Comedy gold, I swear to god.’

Lip scrunches his brows together and drops his pose, instead picking up the pitcher of juice again. ‘I wasn’t joking.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Ian smirks and throws his pencil at his brother. Before Lip can do anything in retort, Fiona comes bounding down the stairs, arms full of dirty laundry.

‘Hey, Ian! Didn’t expect you to be home this weekend. How’s your project comin’ along?’

Ian just groans and collapses on top of his sketches, hating his lack of muse.

*

Monday morning finds Ian back in his dorm, unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. His roommate, Peter, is still sprawled across his bed asleep even though Ian’s pretty sure he’s got a morning lecture. Ian makes the conscious decision to not wake him considering he locked him out of his room the other night so he could bang some girl from his Physics class. Wordlessly, Ian flips him off and shoulders his bag, striding out of the room and down the hall.

He doesn’t have class for another two hours but sometimes he likes to walk around and just find a place to sit where he can maybe draw inspiration. Lately it’s been getting harder due to the colder temperatures.

As soon as he steps out of the building, he’s fishing his lighter out of his pocket and stumbling to ignite it. Recently his craving’s been getting more intense. He blames it on the stress of deadlines.

The cigarette almost falls out of his mouth because _that’s the guy_. He’s found his model, and he’d only had to look up momentarily at the man as he passed. His figure’s flawless for the coat design Ian’d been working on and favoured, and his whole demeanour could bring that extra aggressive touch Ian has been looking for. Not to mention the alabaster pale skin / dark hair combo he’s got going on. Fuck.

‘Uh, excuse me?!’ he’s calling out before he can even think about it. He’s had too many sleepless nights over the thought of his project _never_ being perfect to not seize the opportunity. The guy keeps walking, and that’s okay, because if Ian were in his position he wouldn’t expect a random stranger to be shouting out to _him_. But that means Ian’s got to catch up with him and practically rip his arm off in his eagerness to stop him.

‘The _fuck_?!’ The (perfect) stranger tears his arm out of Ian’s grasp and glares at him murderously. Yeah, this aggressive edge Ian had spotted and was going for should have been something he’d thought about properly before actually approaching him. Ian is quick to pull his hands away and hold them up like he’s just been stopped by a police officer. ‘Who the fuck’re you?’

Ian drops his hands and his cigarette’s still between his lips as he speaks. ‘I’m Ian Gallagher. Textiles student.’

The darker haired man lifts an eyebrow and steals Ian’s cigarette from his mouth, lighting it and taking a long drag. Ian’s too shocked to protest really. Plus, his lips touched the filter and now it’s in the other guy’s mouth, so.

‘Ian Gallagher, Textiles student, thanks for the smoke.’ And he’s _walking away, oh fuck no_.

‘No, wait!’

‘Fuck off.’

Ian rolls his eyes and grabs the other man’s arm again.

‘You fucking do that again your skull’s gonna come a fuck load better acquainted with the pavement,’ he warns, gripping Ian’s wrist and glaring at him with clear caution.

‘Sorry. Shit, uh…’ The guy’s expressive eyebrows lift again and he’s clearly waiting for Ian to explain himself. ‘You ever thought about modelling?’

He snorts and takes another pull from the cigarette. ‘You just go flagging random guys down and ask ‘em if they ever thought about modelling?’

Ian scratches at his jaw and tries to figure out how to rephrase his awkward question. ‘Uhm, that’s not what I- Look, I’m doing this project and-‘

‘Good for you, man,’ he replies, shaking his head and turning away again. Ian remembers the warning and decides against physically grabbing his attention and simply walks along with him.

‘ _And_ , I think you’d be a really great model for my coat design.’

‘I don’t fucking know you.’

‘I’m Ian G-‘

‘I fuckin’ know your name, _Jesus_ ,’ he groans, briefly itching his eyebrow with his thumb and sniffing. ‘Why the fuck would I wanna do some pansy ass clothes modelling, huh?’

Ian chews on the inside of his cheek. ‘I need this for my portfolio, okay? If I don’t get it right, I won’t get a good grade.’

‘That sucks,’ he agrees, breathing in more of the cigarette.

‘I need to let my professor know by the end of the semester which design I’m submitting. And the design I _want_ to use is the coat, and that only works if I have you as my model.’

‘Ooo, that’s tight, see, the end of the semester’s next week, right?’ the stranger says with a smirk. He totally knows he’s got the power over Ian. Fucking hell, he’s _enjoying_ watching Ian squirm.

‘Yeah, it is, so I kinda need you on board with this.’

Ian hasn’t really been paying attention to the direction they’ve been walking so he’s surprised when they stop in front of the Art department. The other man grinds out the finished cigarette against the wall – but, weirdly, keeps it in his hand – and sighs, looking up at Ian. The winter sun on the man’s eyes… Ian could make endless cocktail dresses in that colour.

‘Why should I do anything for you?’

Ian’s got a pretty loaded decision as to what to do next. _Flirt or flight._ ‘Because I’m a hot guy asking another hot guy if he’ll do me a solid?’

Those damn eyebrows. They’re really not encouraging when they’re going all over the place like that. ‘ _Hot_? Okay, tough guy, I’ll be seein’ ya.’

Maybe if he’d chosen to run away his ego might’ve avoided a bruising. This time, he lets him walk off, watching as he tosses the (Ian’s) cigarette butt in a passing hipster’s coffee cup before pushing open the Art department door. _Perfect_. And evil.

*

Except the other man – who Ian’s annoyed to realise he never asked the name of – _does_ see him not two days later. And Ian’s pretty confident he purposefully seek him out.

Ian’s in the campus library, chewing the end of his pencil and basically staring off into space to avoid looking at his unfinished drawings, when the guy approaches his table and pulls out a chair.

‘Hey.’

Ian flinches out of his daydream and stares as he takes a seat opposite him. He’s slightly embarrassed that he physically drops his pencil in surprise. ‘Uh… hi?’

‘So your deadline’s next week, yeah?’

Ian nods slowly and purses his lips, fully snapping out of his haze. Still doesn’t mean this new encounter’s any less strange. ‘My professor’s getting pissed that I’m still undecided, though.’

‘Figures. Insanely high expectations and all that shit.’

Ian frowns because since _when_ did this guy feel sympathy toward him? His shakes his head, clearing it, and then squints. ‘I’m sorry, I never caught your name...’

‘Ha, right,’ he chuckles, combing his hair out of his face with his fingers. _Holy knuckle tattoo Batman_ how the fuck did this guy just fit more and more perfectly into the image Ian wanted to create for his project? And _why the hell_ hadn’t he noticed the tattoos the other day when he’d been so transfixed on him smoking his cigarette? ‘I’m Mickey.’

‘I’m Ian.’

Mickey rolls his eyes and then lowers his face into his hands. ‘How many times do you gotta introduce yourself?’

‘Right, shit,’ Ian curses, shaking his head again. Mickey takes his head out of his hands and grins at him.

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Uh… Not that I’m complaining, but… why the hell are you here and being… nice?’ Ian asks all of a sudden. Because although he genuinely isn’t complaining, he’s still confused about these mixed signals.

Mickey pulls his bottom lip in by his teeth and Ian really shouldn’t have such laser-like focus on the action, nor should he find it so attractive. ‘I got deadlines too. And I get that you can’t get past this fucking mental block… I’ve got the same problem.’

Shit just got interesting. Ian lifts an eyebrow and leans forward slightly, his confidence flooding back into him. ‘So what you’re suggesting is I be your muse, you be mine?’

Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose and clenches his jaw like he really, _really_ doesn’t want to have to admit it out loud. But he does. ‘Fuck. _Yeah, fine_ , I guess that’s what this is.’

A full blown grin breaks out on Ian’s face. ‘Great!’

‘Don’t sound so fucking pleased about it, Gallagher,’ Mickey grumbles, picking up Ian’s dropped pencil and fiddling with it just for something to do that didn’t involve looking directly at Ian. Suddenly, he scrunches up his nose and brings the pencil up to his eyes for closer inspection. ‘You chew your pencil? That’s fucking gross, man.’

Ian smirks and snatches it back. ‘I was doing it when you walked over here, didn’t you see?’

‘I wasn’t looking at your lips or anythin’,’ Mickey mutters, running his hand nervously through his hair again. Ian smiles and he’s _pretty_ sure he knows he’s judged Mickey’s reaction to him correctly.

‘So I’ll probably be needing your phone number.’

‘Why the fuck would you need it?’ There’s no heat in his words, it’s like he’s just saying it to keep up appearances rather than not wanting to supply Ian with the number.

‘What if you need a sudden nude model and _oh no_ , you don’t have my number.’

‘Fuck, you are so fucking annoying,’ Mickey grumbles, sticking his hand in his coat pocket and retrieving his phone. Ian can’t keep the smile off his face because his tone sounds almost _fond_. He gladly accepts Mickey’s cell, punches in his number keenly and sends himself a text; he’s definitely not risking Mickey freaking out and not calling him, leaving Ian without any way of communicating with him.

‘You will text me, right?’ Ian asks, and he sounds a little more vulnerable.

Mickey gives him a small reassuring smile and stands up to go. ‘Sure.’

When Mickey texts him, Ian honestly hadn’t been expecting it to be so suggestive.

*

He’s not quite sure how they got here, nor why Mickey’s now telling him to get the fuck out of his room. Ian’s brain’s racing, replaying everything as he re-dresses. Mickey’s still naked in his bed with a thin blanket draped over him, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, ready to be ignited.

Ian’s hands are shaking as he drags on his jeans in the light of the early – _way too early_ – morning sun. Mickey hadn’t closed his blinds, hadn’t turned on the lights either when Ian had arrived at the dorm room Mickey’d directed him to in his text.

‘Seriously, Gallagher, hurry the fuck up,’ Mickey grunts, playing with his lighter and watching Ian pull his shirt on over his head.

The atmosphere’s shifted, like maybe Mickey’s regretting the whole thing, and it’s such a contrast to how interested he’d been not ten minutes before and at the start when it had been like he couldn’t get Ian on him fast enough. Ian’s feeling pretty rejected, so he doesn’t even say goodbye as he books it out of Mickey’s room.

Well at least there’s no doubt about whether Mickey’s into him or not. Still, there’s a bad taste in Ian’s mouth and he feels like he’s fucked something up. Mickey can’t back out of their deal, though. That would be _really_ shit. Ian did plenty of nude modelling for him last night. Sure, he’d moved around a lot, but Mickey still has probably got what he’d wanted.

Ian sighs and ruffles his hair, digging into his pocket and pulling out his room key – he’s pleased and slightly terrified to have found that Mickey’s only a floor down from him. He nearly drops his key when he finds his roommate leaning against his headboard, decidedly _awake_ like he’d been waiting for Ian to get in. Ian doesn’t acknowledge him and simply goes over to his closet to find some clean clothes. But it was inevitable that Peter would comment; probably why he was waiting, just so he could mock him.

‘Ah, the walk of shame.’

‘Fuck off, Peter.’

‘Ye old random fling.’

‘Fuck _off_ , Peter.’

‘Two man tango, in town for one night only.’

‘Ergh!’ Ian grabs a pile of clothes and storms out into the hallway to make his way to the shower block. All that’s going through Ian’s head is that he’s glad it’s a Saturday morning so he can escape back home for the weekend and not have to deal with Peter, or Mickey’s inevitable dismissal; the whole encounter _had_ screamed one night stand, not that he’d like to admit that to his dick of a roommate. Maybe he can stretch to labelling it a fuck without feelings.

He’s never taken a shower that felt so unpleasant because it’s like he’s washing away all credible evidence that he’s been with Mickey.

*

Fiona looks so confused when he walks through the backdoor of the Gallagher house that it makes him smile. ‘Okay, you _definitely_ weren’t due back this weekend.’

‘Oh, so you don’t wanna see me?’

Fiona hugs him and then pulls away to slap his arm. ‘Shut up. You stayin’ tonight?’

‘Yeah, my roommate’s been pissing me off lately.’

Fiona frowns and starts taking ingredients out of the fridge. ‘You should put in a complaint. He sounds like a real asshole and you don’t stop talking about what a dick he is,’ she says with a teasing smile.

All Ian’s wondering is where he can file a complaint on unknowingly becoming a possible fuck buddy. He jiggles his head, trying to clear it, and sits down at the breakfast table. ‘Nah, I can stick it out for another two semesters...’

Fiona raises her eyebrows and shrugs. ‘If you say so. Hey, you okay to help prep the vegetables?’

Ian plasters on a smirk and stands back up again. ‘We eat vegetables now?’

Fiona rolls her eyes and pushes Ian’s side lightly. ‘You’re gonna help with the Christmas turkey too, right? Kev can’t do all the work.’

‘ _Another_ turkey?’ Ian grumbles, referring to the massive bird they’d devoured at Thanksgiving.

‘Ungrateful asshole!’ Fiona admonishes, grinning as she crouches down to set up the oven for dinner.

Ian’s thoughts quickly travel elsewhere without his sister’s chatter as a distraction. One more week until Christmas break. He’s telling his professor he’s got his final design whether Mickey’s on board now or not, he can’t afford not to.

*

Returning to College after spending a copious amount of time with his family over Christmas and New Year is hard, but it has to be done. The January weather’s a bitch and Ian’s not exactly going to sit around in his dorm room while their block’s heating’s shot, so he elects to wait out the time until his lecture in the library.

‘Gallagher. Missed ya.’

Ian practically snaps his neck as he whips his head around. ‘Mickey?’

Mickey plops down into the seat opposite him after spinning it around so he can lean his forearms on the back of the chair. ‘Hey.’

‘You… You missed me?’

Mickey scoffs and starts to smirk. ‘I needed to say somethin’ to get your attention.’

Sinking fucking disappointment. Ian should win an award for the fact he keeps his feelings off his face, smiling tightly instead like he doesn’t appreciate Mickey’s humour. ‘Ha, funny.’

Mickey narrows his eyes at Ian and tilts his head. ‘I wasn’t tryna be funny.’

Ian sighs and decides to get straight to business, shoving his finished sketches towards the other man. ‘Wanna give your input?’

He leans over to look more closely at the drawings and then a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. ‘Ay, not too bad.’

Ian aims his best bitch face at the top of Mickey’s head before he looks back up. He composes himself and smiles. ‘Thanks.’

‘So I’ll be wearing that, right?’

‘Well, yeah. I need to get your measurements so I can get the fabric and stuff…’

Mickey waggles his eyebrows suggestively which, if he’s honest, shocks Ian a little. ‘I, uh, know one way you can get ‘em.’

Ian’s confused as to why Mickey seems to be fine with glossing over everything that happened at the end of the previous semester and actually proposing they do a repeat performance. But… it’s not like he’s gonna turn him down.

*

‘I’ve just gotta do the lining and the sky blue trim along the lapels…’ _that’s, surprisingly, the same colour as your eyes_.

‘Looks great, Gallagher,’ Mickey says sincerely from where he’s sat atop one of the desks in the otherwise empty classroom.

‘Will look even better when it’s finished and on you,’ Ian mumbles, placing a few pins in between his lips, not even hiding the compliment. Mickey chuckles and slides off the desk, sauntering over to Ian and then placing his hands on the redhead’s waist.

It’s strangely intimate, a gesture Ian never would have thought Mickey would initiate. He nearly inhales the pins in his mouth when he feels Mickey’s breath against his neck as he presses his body flush against Ian’s back.

‘We’re _not_ fucking in a classroom, Mickey,’ Ian groans, hyper-aware of Mickey’s hands on his waist and how well they’re aligned.

‘Why not? We’ve fucked on College property before.’

Ian breathes out a laugh and sticks the pins into the mannequin the coat’s resting on, turning around to face Mickey. ‘Yeah, when you’re in a dorm room it’s kinda not the same thing.’

Mickey exhales deeply and then withdraws, returning to his seat on the desk. ‘Your fucking loss, Ian.’

‘Later?’ Ian suggests, eyes apologetic.

‘Whatever,’ Mickey replies nonchalantly.

Ian grins and then glances back at his project, his _in the flesh design_ that _he's_ made. He always feels so satisfied at this point in the process. ‘It’s nearly finished, Mick.’

*

Now Ian’s never claimed to be a professional photographer or anything, but his shots of Mickey are coming along pretty fucking well.

‘Put one hand in a pocket and kinda look like you’ve just tasted some really great coffee.’

Mickey glares at Ian and then shakes his head. ‘Jesus fucking Christ.’ He still pulls a pose that’s damn close to what Ian’s described.

‘Great. Uhm… Oh, yeah, bring your hand up to your mouth, showing the fuck tattoo and look coyly into the camera like you just saw a child get separated from its mother and you’re not sure whether or not to say something.’

‘You’re wrong in the head, man.’ Mickey stares at Ian like he’s just grown another head.

‘That was a joke,’ Ian says, rolling his eyes, snapping a candid of Mickey. He doesn’t exactly look pleased at Ian taking pictures constantly, even without direction, but he doesn’t outwardly complain. ‘Can you do a crouch?’

‘Yeah, I can do a fuckin’ crouch. Any reason you’re asking?’ Mickey inquires sarcastically.

‘Ergh, you know why I’m asking.’

Mickey huffs out a sigh and follows Ian’s instruction. He smiles behind the camera and takes two pictures of the shorter man in that position.

‘My portfolio is gonna look the shit.’

‘Or just shit,’ Mickey offers alternatively, standing up straight and lifting his eyebrows, waiting for Ian to direct him for the next shot.

‘Shut up,’ Ian says with a chuckle.

He takes a few more pictures, vaguely telling Mickey how to stand. Really, he’s taken too many, but he wants to draw this out for as long as possible because… yeah, he really likes spending time with Mickey when he can pretend they’re something more than just two guys who talk sometimes and fuck each other occasionally.

‘Okay, I’ve got everything I need. You look so fucking good, Mick,’ Ian says, clicking through the photos on his camera. When Mickey doesn’t reply, Ian looks up and sees him nervously nibbling his bottom lip. Ian lets the camera drop on its strap and bounce against his stomach and gives Mickey his full attention. ‘What?’

‘I, uh… I was gonna talk to you about somethin’.’

‘’Bout what?’

Mickey scratches the side of his nose and then lets out a full body sigh. ‘Can we go out for a smoke?’

‘Yeah, sure. Just make sure you leave the coat in here; pretty sure Miss Springer wouldn’t appreciate me smoking around my project.’

Mickey slides the coat off his shoulders to reveal his crisp white shirt – which, holy fuck, Ian is definitely appreciating – before walking out of the room, holding the door open for Ian.

As soon as they get outside, Mickey’s drawing a cigarette and lighter up to his lips, immediately taking a long drag. Ian watches him for a few moments before deciding to prompt him. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I… I finished _my_ project the other night.’

Ian elevates his eyebrows. Fuck, he’d completely forgotten Mickey’s side of the deal; using Ian as a muse for his final piece. Ian tends to do that, to get wrapped up in his work and focus all his attention on it. He forgot Debbie’s birthday once, he gets that bad. ‘Oh yeah?’

Mickey snorts and shoots Ian a weird look. ‘Yeah.’

‘Can I see it?’

He frowns and scratches the side of his nose again, probably a phantom itch. ‘You really want to?’ Ian’s never heard Mickey sound so exposed before, so this is most likely a big fucking deal to him.

‘Of course I do,’ he says softly.

Mickey pauses for a minute, lips pressed together, before he lets out a long breath and nods. ‘Alright. We’re gonna have to go back to my room though. You need to lock up?’

Ian looks at his phone for the time and nods his affirmative. They’re probably the last ones in this part of campus because it’s pretty late. Ian packs away his stuff as quickly as possible and locks the door behind him, noticing that Mickey had lit up at least one more cigarette in the time he’d been gone.

‘Let’s go.’

They walk in silence, Mickey chain smoking while Ian’s eyes stay on the ground. It’s not awkward, but there’s this anticipation coming from both of them – Ian to finally see Mickey’s artwork and Mickey for Ian’s reaction.

Mickey doesn’t have a roommate so they don’t expect anyone to be on the other side of the door when Mickey opens it. The room’s eerily quiet and Ian’s eyes are immediately drawn to the cloth covered canvases propped against one wall that hadn’t been there two nights before when he’d last been in the room.

Silently, Mickey walks over to them and inhales quickly before pulling off the cloth and revealing a drawing, a painting, and a mixed media piece. A smile instantly breaks out on Ian’s face and he steps forward to get a closer look.

It’s clear Ian’s made good on his side of the bargain, there’s no doubt about who the inspiration is. The Ian Mickey’s depicted has his back turned to the viewer, bright hair mussed atop his head. There’s something amazing about Mickey’s attention to detail, though, like he’s learned the subject completely. Every freckle smattering his shoulders and back’s there. The background’s made up of an explosion of colour in the painting and is devoid of colour in the other two.

He doesn’t need to voice his compliments; Mickey’s smiling in this genuine way as he looks at Ian’s expression revealing that he can sense the extent of Ian’s admiration. Tentatively, Ian takes his hand and turns back to look at the artwork, letting out a drawn out sigh.

*

Ian’s grinning as Mickey strides over to his table in the campus coffee shop up until the point he sees how red-in-the-face mad he is and that he’s wielding a very familiar purple flyer. Fuck.

‘You never fucking told me I’d have to do a fucking _fashion show_ , what the fuck?’

Ian glances around because although Mickey hasn’t raised his voice above a furious whisper, he’s still radiating enough anger to cause a few heads to turn. ‘I know, Mickey, but-‘

‘Nope, I ain’t doing it. I thought we’d just have to take pictures for your portfolio or whatever, but nah, _strangely enough_ , I’m not fucking comfortable strutting down an isle in front of a bunch of queens, thank you very much.’

‘Mickey, calm down, Jesus Christ.’

Mickey purses his lips and glares at Ian where he’s still sat at his table. He eventually decides to sit down, placing his hands on the table and displaying his knuckle tattoos, the scrunched up leaflet resting beneath his right palm. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me this at the start?’

Ian glances down at the tabletop and then into his cup of rapidly cooling coffee, avoiding making eye contact with Mickey. ‘From the look of you, you probably wouldn’t have appreciated being told that this would involve walking down a catwalk and I wouldn’t get my good grade.’

‘From the _look_ of me? The fuck’s that supposed to mean?’

He winces and desperately tries to backtrack. ‘No, no, I didn’t- ugh, I _meant_  you were already pretty against the idea of modelling for just _photos_. I knew you wouldn’t say yes.’

‘And that’d be a _bad_ thing?’

Ian’s not going to show how much that comment hurts. Because it’s like Mickey’s easily wiping away everything they’ve built up together from him agreeing to do this with no real trouble. That’s the thing, it seems to be _easy_ for Mickey to just throw Ian away, and slowly Ian’s been realising he’s been latching onto Mickey too tightly and doesn’t really want to let go.

‘Yeah, it would,’ Ian murmurs hoarsely. Mickey doesn’t look angry, like Ian had expected. He just looks so tired. Tired of fighting, maybe. Well, Ian hopes that’s the case. He doesn’t know how the prospect of Mickey modelling at the end of year fashion show led to this deeper bullshit, but it has, and Ian’s waiting with bated breath for what Mickey’s going to reply with.

‘Alright. I’ll do it.’

*

He’s still not exactly sure of what this thing is between him and Mickey, but for one thing he’s certain: Mickey Milkovich looks fucking amazing on a catwalk.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a prompt from my friend, but I'm just gonna say, I'd be more than happy if people sent me prompts! Just to keep me motivated while writing my other stuff and also because I really, really love your feedback. So, if this appeals to you, please send me a prompt [here](http://southsidemilkovich.tumblr.com) and I can maybe make a series where I post them.  
> And, uh... if no one's interested then I'll just... awkwardly sit here... awkwardly...


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